Beloved
by catherine neil
Summary: Random piece of Dave angst. Because there just isn't enough of it.


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Beloved

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*****

disclaimer:I'm not stealing. I'm borrowing.  
author:catherine neil  
rating:It would be G except for the last line. So, uh, don't know. Deal with it.  
feedback:[makes the world go round.][1]  
distribution: Anyone's welcome to it, particularly if they send me some glowing praise. Doesn't have to be true. Just glowing. :)  
summary: A plotless meandering piece of Malucci- angst. Because I want to.  
author's note: It's late at night, and I've written this in one sitting, and I'm posting it without having it beta-read or anything. And I've never written ER fic before- I just has a sudden urge. And I don't even watch that much ER, so I might get details wrong. And I'm from Northern Ireland so I'm about ten episodes behind the rest of the world anyway. Those are my excuses. Enjoy. Or not. :)

*****

Dave skimmed his eyes across the ambulance bay. It was unnervingly empty, unnervingly quiet. He shifted his view across the road. Streelights shining on snow.

What was it about snow in Chicago? He never knew you could get this much snow anywhere before he came here. In Chicago there were blizzards, storms, heat waves...endless raging elements underscoring endless, quiet tragedies. Endless quiet deaths in frantic hallways.

Dave hated snow. Ever since he tried to make his first snowman and his brother smashed it up in front of him. He hated it.

He heard the double doors crash open behind him, and swing shut again. Heard a voice muttering obscenities. He twisted his head round.

Benton. Standing just outside the doors, lit from behind by the lights in reception. He had his eyes closed, and an expression that suggested he was a degree or two more pissed off than usual.

"Hey." Said Dave.

Benton's eyes snapped open, and he stared at Dave as if they'd never met before. As if he had no idea who Dave was.

Finally he nodded, slightly. "Hey."

Dave nodded. Benton nodded. They had nothing to say to each other. Different worlds. Dave turned away, and they stood in not quite comfortable silence.

The doors swung open again, accompanied by a short burst of noise- there was a fight going on in reception- and Dave heard Dr. Corday.

"Peter, Romano wants to see you." Sympathy laced her voice.

"Now?"

"'Fraid so."

Dave turned again to see Benton stalking back into the hospital, dramatically flinging open the doors. No one could ever just walk through those doors, could they? Everyone always had to make a statement when they did it. His eyes accidentally met Elizabeth's, as she noticed him for the first time.

"Are you alright?" She inquired, with considerably less sympathy, and considerably more contempt, and a tone of voice that implied that if he wasn't all right, she really didn't want to know.

He flashed her a grin. "Aren't I always?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"By the way, loving the look." He added, gesturing towards her bloodstained scrubs. "Have I mentioned that you look all kinds of cute in green?"

And now the look was definitely contempt. She went back inside, the emotional emphasis given by the doors this time being exasperation.

That woman was scary.

And Dave was alone again. In the snow.

Technically, he should have gone home hours ago. He was off till morning. He'd harassed Jing-Mei, he'd pissed all of his colleagues off, he'd felt the wrath of Weaver twice- he'd done all he needed to do in a typical day. There was no need for him to still be there. He should go home.

But he didn't want to. There was nothing waiting for him at home except two tins of soup, a roomful of carbon monoxide from his heater, which had broken, and probably a forlorn answer phone message from his mother wishing him happy birthday.

He could hear her voice in his head, crackling down the phone line.

_"Oh, oh, David, are you there? No, I suppose you're not there. Oh. Are you- I suppose- are you at work? Yes, I suppose- oh, well, I just called to say happy birthday, David, and I've put- I've put your card in the mail and- well, I suppose that's all. You will call soon, David?"_

Always the same self-pitying voice. Always that the card was in the mail. He knew from experience that the card wasn't in the mail, would never be in the mail, had never even been bought. Always calling him David. No one called him David anymore, apart from his mother.

David. It was Hebrew. It meant 'beloved'. That's what she used to tell him. Beloved.

Yeah. Funny.

'Malucci' was from his father. He never found out what it meant. He didn't really care to.

_"I just called to say happy birthday, David..."_

He supposed it was endearing that she always at least remembered to call. He supposed he probably should call her. Try and build some bridges, or something. He wasn't going to, but he supposed he should.

Happy birthday, David.

Like anyone gave a-

"Dave?"

Dave spun round. It was Jing-Mei, regarding him with- was it concern?

"The one and only," he responded. Trademark grin.

"Didn't you get off hours ago?"

He paused, trying to think of something funny, something annoying to say. He couldn't. "I guess I did."

Jing-Mei hesitated, and came towards him, digging her hands into her pockets and shivering with the cold. "Are you alright?"

What was with everyone asking that? Did he have 'pathetic' written across his forehead?

"I'm great. I'm fantastic. Five by five. A hundred and ten percent. I'm great."

"Right." She said doubtfully. She glanced distractedly back at the hospital.

"Listen, do want to go and get a drink or something?" He said suddenly.

_Say yes,_ he silently pleaded._ Save me from my tins of soup and my mother and my impending carbon monoxide poisoning._

"I can't," she said, faking regret. "I've got patients."

Hello, tins of soup.

"Patients. Right. Great." He didn't sound as lighthearted as he meant to.

"Dave, I'm sorry about that girl."

She's sorry about that girl, Dave. She's sorry about that girl you let die today. She's sorry about that girl who looked a bit like your sister. She's not sorry enough to go for a drink with you, but she's sorry.

"Yeah. Well."

They looked at each other for a moment. A serious moment. They didn't have many of those. It was strange.

She broke eye contact first, ending the moment. "Well- I guess I should-" She glanced at the hospital again.

Dave shrugged. "Fine. Great. Go forth and heal." Looking down, he kicked the snow with his foot.

Jing-Mei touched his arm, and Dave enjoyed it, and for a moment he considered kissing her. Just for the hell of it, see how she reacted. But before he could make up his mind, she took her hand away and turned to go.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dave."

"I can't tempt you with a snowball fight?" He called after her.

"Grow up." She said lightly, as she swung back through the doors.

He flinched. Grow up, Malucci. You're not funny, Malucci. _God,_ Malucci.

He got the message. Every day, loud and clear, over and over. He got. The message.

He screwed up today. Made a bad call. He was joking around, not paying attention. He missed something with that girl. He screwed up. She probably would have died anyway, but...would she? Probably. Maybe. Maybe not. He screwed up.

She had looked a bit like his sister. He hadn't even noticed that until they called it. 5:47. She looked like his sister. Or like his sister might have looked if she'd gotten to that age.

Yeah. Dave screwed up royally again today. 

It wasn't his fault, not really. That's what they said to him, when he failed to crack any jokes for the next few hours. Not his fault.

That's not what they thought, though. Because in truth, it always was his fault. He was too busy joking around to save anyone.

_"I'll see you tomorrow, Dave."_

He liked the way Jing-Mei said his name. She was the only one who didn't pronounce it to rhyme with loser. He liked her. He actually liked her, more than he did every other female he hit on. She was...nice.

She hated him, of course. Because he was arrogant, and immature, and lazy. He knew this, because she had told him. In those exact words.

People told him that a lot. They didn't seem to think he'd mind. They thought he'd laugh, and crack a joke, and not care.

And not care that he was a joke, that he was a bad doctor, that he was a liability. And not care about whatever Weaver or Dr. Greene laid into him about.

_Dave doesn't earn the respect of his co-workers..._

Dave gets a little hypersensitive about child abuse cases...

Dave gets on everyone's nerves...

He didn't care. He would laugh it off.

_Romano still hasn't got Dave's name right...freaking Italian immigrants..._

Funny. Funny funny funny.

Because Dave was funny. Dave was all about laughs.

It was his birthday. His sister was dead. His father was gone. His mother had had a breakdown. His brother smashed up his snowman. He killed someone today.

Funny funny funny.

Ha fucking ha.

**the end**

I think. 

   [1]: mailto:catherine_neil@hotmail.com



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